The cold is a shock against the raw flesh.
The door bursts open again. Marco, still in his training clothes, hair wild with sweat and panic. His eyes find mine immediately. Something breaks in his expression.
Marco rushes forward, falling to his knees and grabbing my hand. Despite Cas and Evander, I don’t bother hiding my relief at seeing him. I squeeze his hand tightly, producing a noise from the back of my throat that’s half whimper, all gratitude.
“He can’t talk,” Cas explains. “The razor blade has completely fucked his mouth up.”
Marco runs his thumb across my jaw, my chin, wiping a dribble of blood from it. His touch is impossibly gentle.
Then he stands.
“Jason,” he says simply.
Cas nods. “Jason. I’m not sure how—”
But Marco has already left the room.
I groan, opening my mouth and attempting to say ‘stop him,’ but a mess of sounds and blood comes out. I look at Cas and shake my head frantically.
“What do you want me to do?” he says. He glares at the door. “You know, this is partly Marco’s fault. He’s made you a target!”
I shake my head violently.
Go and stop him.
My throat closes up. I want to cry. The pain is excruciating, a constant throb that radiates through my entire being. When will I be able to talk properly again? Or eat?
Evander sighs deeply. “This is going to need stitches. Several of them.”
The door crashes open again, rattling on its hinges.
“For fuck’s sake,” Evander snaps.
Marco throws Jason into the room with us. I blink in disbelief. I hadn’t expected him to bring Jasonhere.
“Well?” Marco snaps.
“It wasn’t me!” Jason immediately protests, folding his arms across his chest.
“I don’t believe you,” Marco says. “Max told me that Vincent Crane dropped you this morning.”
“And?”
“And you thought taking Robin out might make him come back to you.”
Jason lets out a horrible laugh. “And how the fuck did I put a razor blade in his dumpling, Marco? I don’t work in the kitchen!”
“I don’t know! Maybe you got to the table before anyone else did. Maybe you sucked a guard off in exchange for them doing it.”
“Or maybe you’re wrong.” Jason steps toward Marco. “Maybe there’s more than one man out there who wouldn’t mind watching Robin puke up blood.”
“What?” Marco snaps.
“Everyone’s talking about him,” Jason says, and Cas’s eyes suddenly fall to the ground. “Your special littlebirdie. How you fixed it so you’d play the match together, to help him get even more sponsorship.”
Marco’s voice goes dangerously quiet. “I have no control over the matches, and you know that.”
“Every single man out there wouldn’t hesitate to stab him in the back. He’s all the sponsors and fans can talk about. And the other players don’t like how we’re all treated like dirt while Robin gets to have sleepovers at your villa.”
